Not For Me
by Starzangel
Summary: When Danny gets shot, Ed finds himself making some ground rules a little too late in the game. COMPLETE
1. Part 1

Disclaimer: _Las Vegas_ doesn't belong to me.

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**Not For Me**

**Part 1**

Danny McCoy could hear sounds in his head. They were strange.

There was the frantic lub-dub-lub-dub of a heart beating too quickly. The desperate rasp and wheeze of ragged breath sucked through a dry throat. And voices. Vaguely familiar voices that sounded odd, sort of tinny and loud, yet distant, as if heard from underwater.

"You fool! Goddamn you!" Angry words, which trembled. Spoken in a coarse, deep voice. It was distorted, echoing, but Danny recognized it, a name almost on the tip of his tongue.

"Danny! Danny!" So much shouting. It hurt. It hurt his head. And his chest. His chest hurt, too.

"Danny! Oh God! No!" Mary. Her name was Mary. She was upset and frightened. It was dark, he couldn't see her tears, but he could hear them. "No! No! Oh God! No, no!"

"Somebody call an ambulance!" The coarse voice was yelling again. Demanding, but less cross now. "Mike, call an ambulance. Now!"

Fear, commotion…so many frightened voices. He knew he ought to open his eyes, find out what was going on. But it was calmer here in the darkness, drifting in the black sea. He would just rest awhile. Ed wouldn't mind if he took a break, just for a little bit.

"Danny, open your eyes! Come on, right now." Ok, maybe Ed would mind. Of course, he would.

Danny was needed on the floor. Something had happened, something terrible. It was his job to be there and sort things out. Guests were screaming, Mary was hysterical and crying. He could hear her. She was calling for him, she needed him. Mike said the paramedics were on their way. Someone mentioned a gun. Oh hell! Had someone been shot?

"Come on, kid, wake up – come back. You can do it." Ed was speaking softly and encouragingly, his rough voice unused to such gentle tones.

Danny tried. But then there was pain. It flared up without warning, a fierce blaze that started in the left side of his chest and then burnt all through him.

"Danny, _please_…" It was a plea. Soft and despairing. Ed never spoke like that…something terrible must have happened. Was it Delinda? Had someone hurt Delinda?

Danny fought through the pain, reaching out for the surface. He had to get there. Something had happened in the Montecito and it was his job to be there. Ed needed him. Something was wrong.

Something was wrong with _him_. There shouldn't be this pain. Definitely not this much. He was in agony. It felt like…like…

His eyelids finally obeyed, sliding back to give him a blurry image of cream paint and glittering lights. And a face. At least he thought it was a face, all fuzzy and moving. Or two faces…was it two? No, just the one. A familiar face. Male, weathered by the years, but strong. Paler than usual.

"Ed…" The voice was feeble and vibrated through his throat, draining his strength. Was it his?

"Oh, Danny." Ed sighed heavily and wiped a hand down his face in relief.

"Ed, wha's goin' on?" It came out a lot quieter and more slurred than he intended.

The lights were too bright, there were too many people, all moving, all making too much noise. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

"Where am I?" He tried turning his head and a crowd of people rocked before his eyes. They wore dresses, sparkly and slinky, bare legs and strappy sandals, and shirts and black pants, polished shoes. Guests. Being ushered back by Mike and Sam.

A pair of eyes met his. Mary. She was leaning against a roulette table for support, Nessa's hand on her shoulder and holding her back. Fighting away, Mary rushed over, collapsing to her knees at his side. He heard her shoes scraping against the floor. Felt the vibrations through his back.

"Danny." Her eyes were red and puffy, big round tears spilling down her cheeks. "Danny, you gotta hold on, ok? Hold on."

Danny felt her little hand slip into his and cling tightly. But he couldn't find the strength to squeeze back.

He was cold. There was a stabbing, burning pain in his chest. It was hard to breathe.

There were splashes of red on the casino's floor. A splattering of blood.

Ed was pressing something against his chest, making him groan in agony. And something hot was trickling down his side. Black spots danced across his vision.

Then it dawned on him.

He'd been shot.

There wasn't time to remember how or why, as reeling from the revelation, Danny slipped back into the darkness.

A coarse, deep voice followed him down. "Don't you even think about dying on me!"

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Author's Note: What do you think? Worth continuing? 


	2. Part 2

Author's Note: Wow! I wasn't expecting such a positive response! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your lovely reviews!

I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

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**Part 2**

Ed Deline paced the hospital corridor. His muscular shoulders were tense, ready and eager to take on a physical threat, but the frantic energy built up within him had no means of escape.

He came to a stop in front of a pair of red double doors. A hand, aching to be clenched into a fist, reached out and forlornly brushed over them, causing them to swing inward slightly, teasingly. The doctors had taken Danny through these doors towards the operating room.

Ed gave a heavy sigh and let his hand drop. He turned and stared unseeingly back down the corridor.

Hospitals. He hated hospitals.

They were endless mazes of pale corridors and adjoining rooms, curtained off beds and anxious people. Everywhere reeked of disinfectant. Sickness seemed to be a tangible thing, coating everything and drawn in with each breath.

He didn't want Danny in this place.

Ed only had one good memory relating to a hospital – the birth of his daughter. But the joy of that single occasion had been all down to Delinda and nothing to do with the location. Generally, if he was in a hospital, it was on unpleasant terms.

Pain.

Suffering.

Fear.

Misery.

Death.

Not the sort of place he wanted to hang around for hours. Yet, that was exactly what he was doing. And there was no way he was going to leave. As much as he wanted to go back to the Montecito to distract himself with work and pretend everything was fine, he would never abandon Danny.

Cursing softly, Ed drew a hand across his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He would do almost anything to trade places with the kid, to be the one undergoing emergency surgery to have a bullet removed from his chest. It _should_ have been him. Damn that boy!

But there was nothing Big Ed Deline could do. No way for him to help Danny. At a moment when it mattered most, he was powerless. He felt trapped and restless, as if trying to escape an itch. Only it wasn't an itch; it hurt. It hurt, achingly and terribly, to the heart.

Ed took a sharp intake of breath and started off again. He strode down the corridor, passing the row of chairs pushed against the wall where Jillian and Mary sat. Jillian had a magazine open on her lap, but her eyes were on him, watching him, as she sipped a cup of coffee. Alone at the other end of the short line of seats, Mary was slumped listlessly, exhausted by her own fear. Her hands lay clenched in her lap, spots of blood drying where she had chewed her nails down too far earlier. Her eyes were glazed, staring off into nowhere.

He ignored them both.

Reaching the hot drink dispenser, Ed turned and sauntered passed the chairs to the doors again. He barely gave the doors a glance before turning. Then back. And again. And again…

"Eddie, sit down."

He kept pacing, and clenched his jaw. "I can't, Jillian." His voice was controlled, but barely. "I have to _do_ something. I have to find a way to help him."

"There's nothing we can do," his wife told him, gently.

"It should be me in there!" Ed clenched his fist, crumpling the polystyrene cup he held. Cold coffee spilled over his hand. He tossed the split cup away in disgust and it hit the wall, spraying its remaining drops of liquid.

"He's just a kid." Ed stopped in the middle of the corridor. He covered his eyes with a hand, his voice cracking. "A kid, Jillian, just a kid."

"I know, Eddie, I know," Jillian whispered, sadly and sympathetically. She waited a moment, then patted the seat beside her. "Sit down," she softly urged him.

Ed obeyed, as a man lost in grief. Sinking down onto the chair, he turned to his wife and accepted the hand she offered him.

"I wish I hadn't let the police take that son-of-a-"

"Shh." Jillian squeezed his hand, cutting him off.

"Jail isn't enough. I should've…" Ed tore his hand out of his wife's and rubbed his temples furiously. "It was me he was after. That bullet was meant for me!" He spread his hands. "That stupid, goddamned boy! Why'd he have to…" Ed's hands tensed, the fingers curling in at the tips, and then crushing inwards to form fists. "Christ! I shouldn't have let him, I should've seen. Damn it, I should have stopped him!"

"Danny knew what he was doing." Jillian touched his arm. "You would've done the same for him."

"Yes, but that's not the point." Ed rested his head back against the wall. "When I get my hands on that foolhardy kid, I'm gonna kill him!"

Jillian sipped her coffee, letting her husband fume and curse.

After a few minutes Ed fell silent and slowly his eyes slid to the red doors.

"How long has it been?" he asked, quietly.

"One hour and twenty minutes." It wasn't Jillian that answered him, but Mary.

Ed glanced at her in surprise, having forgotten she was there. Mary's head was bent over, her long hair hanging forward and hiding her face. She didn't say anything else.

"Is that a long time?" Jillian whispered to Ed, and he turned back to her. "How long do these things take? It sounds a long time."

"It'll take as long as it takes," Ed deadpanned. "He was in a bad way."

Jillian shifted nervously in her chair. "They would they tell us if…you know. Wouldn't they?"

"Yes," Ed replied, simply.

He felt Mary's eyes on him and he glanced over at her. The young woman looked ready to burst into tears again. Ed reached out and laid a gentle hand on her trembling shoulder.

"He'll be ok," he reassured her.

Mary reached up to pat his hand. "I know. I know." She pressed her lips tightly together and tears silently spilled from her eyes. "He has to be."

She tried to smile, as she opened out a tissue she'd balled up in her hand and dabbed at her eyes.

Ed smiled sadly back, giving the girl's shoulder one last squeeze, and then he shifted back to his wife.

"There's nothing we can do but wait," Jillian said, sorrowfully. "And hope."

Ed nodded, sighing heavily. He stood up and began to pace again.

_To Be Continued..._

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Author's Note 2: Any comments on characterisation would be greatly appreciated. Bits of this chapter were somewhat tricky and it would be nice to know whether I got it right in the end or not. (Any other comments are, of course, also welcome!) 


	3. Part 3

**Part 3 **

There was a little, insistent beeping noise, as regular as clockwork. It was getting annoying. Beep…beep…beep. It just wouldn't give it a rest.

If anything, it was getting louder and clearer. Beep…beep. Like a heartbeat. It seemed to pick up its pace a little, at the same time as the pain started.

His chest hurt, really quite badly he was discovering, making him acutely aware of each time he breathed in and out. The stabs of pain closely coupled each breath, and the beeping followed like a sadistic spectator, quickening as everything else did.

Then came the ear-splitting sound of metal scraping over metal. Too loud. Far too loud. He felt his facial muscles tighten into a wince.

What was making all this noise? Everything was dark, pitch-black. The darkness was peaceful, it didn't make noise. It must be something else.

A rustling, flapping noise. Paper. Paper?

"Open your eyes, Mr. McCoy."

Were they not open? That _would_ explain the blackness. Oh, then that was a good idea.

He was surprised to find opening his eyes much harder than he remembered. His eyelids felt heavy, like they were weighted down. It didn't hurt, it was just difficult and tiring, making the effort to wake seem the opposite of what he should be doing. But he kept trying. He wanted to know what was going on.

Finally, his eyelids slid back and bright light, white and fuzzy, filled his vision. It seared through his head, blurring his thoughts and making his eyes squeeze shut. He heard a moan and felt vibrations through his throat and jaw.

"Mr. McCoy."

Tentatively squinting, he watched smudges move, gray and formless, wading through the fog in his mind. Slowly the grayness defined itself into wobbly shapes and brightened into color, settling into the form of a friendly face to match the friendly voice.

She was a woman in her thirties, curly blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, and she was smiling warmly. He didn't have a clue who she was.

Panic gripped hold of his chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. Where the hell was he!

He panted through the pain, trying to stop the room spinning long enough for him to see it clearly.

"Hey, take it easy." The woman gently touched his arm. "It's ok, you're safe. You're in hospital."

Hospital? That was ridiculous!

The white, sterile-looking room rocked before his eyes, with its beeping monitoring equipment and the metal-railed bed he was lying in. It _was_ worryingly hospital-like.

The woman was dressed in white scrubs, hugging a clipboard to her chest and eyeing him critically. His gaze settled on her nametag – Nurse Sally Andrews. She went over to a phone on the wall and spoke quietly into it.

He shouldn't be in a hospital! What was he doing in a hospital?

Someone had dressed him in a gown and a blanket was pulled up to his waist. Tubes and wires led from various parts of his body to the surrounding equipment. He waggled his forefinger encased in the plastic clip of a pulse oximeter and cautiously touched the tubing attached to the catheter imbedded in a vein on the back of his other hand.

What was wrong with him?

He heard the metal scraping against metal sound, and looked up to see the nurse hooking his chart back onto his bed. His hospital bed. His medical chart onto his hospital bed.

He looked at the nurse in bewilderment, his wide eyes begging for answers.

"What happened?" His voice was faint and his throat dry. He swallowed, before pressing on. "Why am I here?"

Sally rested her elbows on the railings of his bed. She smiled kindly at him.

"My name's Sally. I'm a nurse," she said, pointing at the nametag he had already read. "Can you tell me what your name is?"

He frowned, confused as to why she would ask such a stupid question – she already knew who he was. He was the one who didn't know anything! Then he realized. It was one of those medical assessment questions normally asked of patients who had just regained consciousness for the first time. And he was one of those patients.

"Danny," he replied, obediently. "Daniel McCoy."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital, apparently."

"That's right."

He would have found her condescending, if it weren't so hard to stay focused. As it was, he welcomed the reassurance.

However, he didn't quite manage to return her smile. "Why am I here?" he asked again.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Sally asked, gentle and patient.

"I…I…"

The last thing he remembered…

The Montecito. He'd been at work, in the Montecito. Some sort of problem downstairs…

The managers of the fashion show had just arrived…but twenty-seven personnel didn't have rooms booked…were getting rowdy…he was trying to placate them…

Ed was turning away, telling him to sort it – he'd arranged to take Jillian out for lunch. A man in a baseball cap…pushing his way through the noisy crowd… The shady character he'd spotted in the lobby earlier and chased across the parking lot… A gun…raised and aimed at Ed's back… Dived without a second thought… Then…nothing.

Ah.

Danny's hand went to where it hurt most, touching his chest, feeling the bandages through his gown.

Oh great.

He swallowed thickly. "I got shot."

"I'm afraid so," Sally replied, sympathetically.

"But I'm going to be ok?" He needed to check. It was somewhat disconcerting to realize you'd been shot, especially in the chest.

"Yes." Sally smiled again and patted his hand. "Dr. Saunders will be here shortly to look you over and explain things. But you're doing well."

Danny tried to look on the bright side. At least he knew where the bullet had ended up. That meant Ed was ok.

Then a worrying thought occurred to him. He couldn't be sure of what had happened next…had more shots been fired?

"Ed…is he…" Danny found himself unable to ask directly. He tried a different approach. "Am I the only one injured? Was anyone else in the Montecito hurt?"

"You were the only one. As I understand it, the gunman was seized after firing the first shot, which hit you. And is now beginning a slow rot in a jail cell."

Danny sighed, releasing the tension from his chest, lessening the pain a little.

Ed was all right. Everyone else was all right, too. And the bastard that had shot him was locked up, hopefully for a long, long time.

The door opened and a woman, who Sally greeted as Dr. Saunders, walked in. Her long copper-red hair was flipped up and clipped to the back of her head, her lab coat fitted well enough to hint at hourglass curves. Shadows of tiredness cupped her eyes, but they were still bright and attentive, and her pleasing lips curved into a professional, yet warm smile.

"I'm glad to see you awake, Mr. McCoy." She came over to his beside, picking his chart up on the way. "There are some people waiting outside desperate to see you."

_TBC…_

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Author's Note: Sorry updates are taking so long, I'll try to be quicker next time. I hope you're all still enjoying the story! 


	4. Part 4

**Part 4 **

Ed was sat alone in the corridor, head in his hands, when a voice called his name. He straightened up slowly, and looked at the woman through tired, glazed eyes.

"Mr. Deline?" The attractive redhead was frowning ever so slightly, seeming to expect him to recognize her. "Mr. Deline, I'm–"

Ed jolted forward on his seat, suddenly remembering who the woman was. "Dr. Saunders!" He reached up to shake her hand. "Danny's doctor." He smiled politely, trying to hide his apprehension.

"That's right," Dr. Helen Saunders replied, giving him a warm smile and briefly shaking his hand. She glanced along the corridor. "You're alone? Have Mrs. Deline and Miss Connell left?"

"Jillian took Mary downstairs to the canteen to try to get some food into her," Ed explained.

"Oh, I see. Well, it's probably for the best," Dr. Saunders said. "Three visitors at once would be a little too overwhelming right now."

Ed's face stilled. "You mean…I can see him?"

"Yes." She smiled and nodded. "Mr. McCoy is doing well. He's awake and eager to see a familiar face."

Ed covered his mouth with a hand, taking a moment to let it sink into his overwrought mind.

"If you'd like to follow me," the doctor said, gesturing down the corridor.

He wordlessly followed Dr. Saunders a short way through the hospital until they arrived at a door, which she opened and then stood back to let him pass her into the room. Scarcely believing he was finally able to see Danny, half expecting to see the wrong patient in the bed, Ed entered the room with fists clenched to stop them shaking.

But there he was. Alive. Eyes open and staring back at him. A smile that was slightly embarrassed.

Every muscle in Ed's body relaxed, the fear finally gone. Knees weak, he took hold of the rail at the foot of Danny's bed.

Dr. Saunders said something about being outside and to call if needed, and Ed was vaguely aware of her and a nurse leaving the room. But his gaze never left the young man in the bed.

Danny McCoy was pale, though not as ghostly as when he'd been bleeding onto the Montecito's floor. He was in pain, too. Ed could see the lines on his face and the way he avoided movement. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion and glassy with analgesics, but there was a spark there – a spark of life. Danny was going to be ok.

"Hey, Ed," Danny greeted, breaking the silence, as the elder man let go of the rail and made his way around to the side of the bed.

"Hey." Ed reached over and laid a gentle hand on the lad's shoulder. His tired eyes filled with tears as he looked down at the boy. "Why'd you… You damn…" Ed tore himself away, turning his back to the bed and covering his eyes with a hand.

Danny watched, trying to think of something to say, as tension built back up in Ed Deline's powerful shoulders. Then Ed turned back, a roughly wiped away tear streaked across his cheek. His expression was different, darker – angry.

"You do _not_ risk your life for mine." The words came out a little too harshly, a little too sternly.

Ed immediately regretted them, as Danny blinked, taken aback. The kid looked so damn weak. Mentally kicking himself, Ed knew he should've at least first said something along the lines of, "I'm glad you're gonna be ok." But it was too late now and he was on a roll, so he continued, taking it down only a notch.

"Damn it, kid, you're not allowed to take a bullet for me. For Delinda, yes, if I'm not there to do it. For a top client, maybe. But _not for me_." He glared down at the young man. "I take my own hits, ok?"

Danny frowned. "Ed, I couldn't just –"

"Hell, son, I thought you were dead!" Ed cried, cutting him off. "They had you on that damn operating table for two hours. Two hours, _two hours_! I thought you were dead!"

"Sorry."

"You scared the shit out of me, Danny. Don't you dare do that again."

"Sorry."

Danny didn't know what else to say. He couldn't promise not to do the same again, though he severely hoped he wouldn't have to. He was tired and he hurt and everything was just a bit too much – too loud, too bright, too much to take in.

"Damn it! Stop apologizing!" Ed sank into a nearby chair. "I'm yelling and look at you," he mumbled dejectedly, "you nearly _died_."

"Ed, I…I'd rather you didn't keep saying that."

Ed looked over, not understanding what Danny meant. He stood up and walked back over to the bed. The boy looked so helpless, cradled in the arms of the hospital equipment. He took hold of Danny's hand, which clasped his in response.

"Saying what?" he asked, gently laying his other hand on the young man's arm.

"The almost dying thing."

"Ok," Ed agreed, "but on one condition."

"What?" Suspicious, Danny raised an eyebrow.

"Promise you won't scare me like that again."

"I'll try not to." Danny smiled.

"Ok, then." Ed patted Danny on the shoulder and then withdrew from the bed a step. "I suppose I should…well…" He glanced down at the floor.

His face blank and still, Ed's gaze lifted to appraise the young man. The brave, intelligent, compassionate, young man. His protégé. The boy he felt a father's pride for. Danny, who he loved like he was his own son.

"Thank you." The strength of Ed's emotion was shown by the softness of his words.

Danny smiled, quietly.

Ed glanced away, briefly clearing his throat, before turning back with a more animated air. "Oh, you'll be glad to hear that piece of crap is behind bars."

"Yeah, the nurse said." Danny winced, as anger towards the shooter made his chest tighten.

"Of course," Ed said, mildly, "if you hadn't been making such a mess of my casino floor, I would've killed him with my bare hands."

Danny frowned, teasingly reproachful, though knowing the serious truth of it.

Ed spread his hands and shrugged. "But, I suppose – as you would say – " he brought his hands together in a clap, "that was for the best."

Danny smiled back at Ed, mischievously adding, "Yeah, saving the life of a murderer wouldn't have such a heroic ring to it."

"You little…" Ed made a mock strangling action. "Hey! I thought we weren't mentioning the near death thing."

"Well, not mine, but I didn't say anything about yours." Danny was grinning.

"Kid, you'd better be taking this seriously." Ed gave him a solemn look.

Danny's grin slipped and he frowned in askance, as he grimly gestured towards his surroundings and current state.

Ed sighed. "Ok, I get it. But drop the flippancy for a moment, would you? I need to be sure you understand."

"I'm listening," Danny assured him.

Ed rested his hands on the bedrails, fixing his protégé with a stern look. "This is a little late in the game to be making ground rules, but to be clear: my life isn't worth more than yours. Not in the affairs of the gun or the Reaper. I won't have you leaping in front of any more bullets, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes." Danny nodded. "Crystal."

"Good." Ed's face broke out into a warm smile again. "Now, you get yourself better quick or you'll have another earful from me." He waggled a finger at him.

"Understood, boss." Danny grinned.

Ed rubbed his chin, stubble rough under his thumb, and studied the young man critically for a moment.

Danny shifted under the scrutiny. "What?" he asked, uneasily.

"How tired are you?" Ed asked. "You look exhausted. Are you up to seeing another visitor? As there's a young lady down in the canteen…"

"Who?" There was an excited, hopeful look on Danny's face.

"Mary."

"Mary's here?" Danny's face lit up in delight.

"I'll take that as a yes." Ed smiled. "I'll go get her."

"Thanks." Then Danny sobered as he added, "Ed…thanks for being here."

"All I could do. Take care, kid." Ed gently squeezed his arm, before turning to leave. "I'll see you later."

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End.

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Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! Your reviews really do spur me on, though you wouldn't think it by the slowness of my updates (lack of free time is to blame for that). Sorry for making you wait so much! I'd love to know what you think of the story overall now that it's finished. Did you have a favorite chapter? Was there anything you didn't like or that could've been improved? Thanks again! 

Starzangel


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